


Talk Elfy to Me

by magisterpavus



Series: How To Train Your Dragon (Age) [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Elf/Human Relationship(s), Exhibitionism, M/M, PWP, Stupid Boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 18:37:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5216411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterpavus/pseuds/magisterpavus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lavellan makes the mistake of giving Dorian some very valuable information about his ears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talk Elfy to Me

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of thoughts about elf ears. If they're really like rabbit ears, or cat ears...they probably move. C'mon, Bioware, make me some elves with twitchy ears.
> 
> Just a lil snippet for these guys post Trespasser; there will be more snippets and they'll probably all be SUPER out of order so just...hang in there haha. This is slightly not-canon bc Dorian's father (SPOILERS) hasn't died yet. Nira is currently chilling with Cassandra but she'll definitely be in the other ones! In the meantime, hope you enjoy.

Lavellan wasn’t sure why he told Dorian, but there’s no going back now.

“Your ears,” Dorian said to him in the lazy afterglow of sex, tracing the lobe of said ear curiously. “They move a lot.”

Lavellan, still not fully cognizant, raised an eyebrow. “Yes. They do.”

Dorian chuckled, the sound traveling through Lavellan’s chest as deep vibrations that made him shiver. “I mean, during sex.”

Lavellan turned pink (ears included). “Oh,” he said.

“I think it’s rather endearing, don’t fret,” Dorian quickly added, “but I was wondering if there’s any rhyme or reason behind the movements. Because they happen outside of the bedroom too – like when you’re mad, they go almost flat against your skull, like a miffed cat.”

“I’m not a cat,” Lavellan grumbled, biting his collarbone sharply.

“Not the point, amatus,” Dorian laughed, ruffling his hair. “What do they mean, then – is it a type of elf-exclusive body language?”

Lavellan shifted, still pink. “I…”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Dorian assured. “If it’s some heavily guarded secret –”

“No, no,” Lavellan said hurriedly. “It’s not that. You’re right…it’s a form of communication, like facial expressions or normal body language.”

“But…?”

“But some of it is rather…oh, fenedhis, fine. You really want me to tell you what they mean?”

“Should I be worried?” Dorian asked apprehensively.

Lavellan made a face. “Uh…I don’t know. I suppose…you’re correct about them going back flatly, that means I’m angry or upset. Scared might also apply. When they twitch upwards, it’s amusement or happiness; when they twitch downwards it’s irritation or unease. The nuances are hard to explain to humans...” Lavellan looked away. “But you were asking about the ones during sex…” He blushed darkly, ears going back and out to the sides. “Like this.”

“Yes,” Dorian murmured. “Like that. What does that mean?”

“Take me,” Lavellan replied. “Basically. It’s like…nonverbally moaning. Really loudly.” He was probably crimson at that point. He covered his face. “Why am I telling you this?”

Dorian’s laughter bubbled up, startled and disbelieving. “What?! Really? I…oh. I suppose that…makes sense, actually. Hm. I feel strangely enlightened.”

“Oh, shut up,” Lavellan said, ears quickly moving back to their usual position. “Now I really do feel like I’ve just given away some big elfy secret, thanks a lot.”

Dorian, still grinning, flicked one of his ears fondly. “Don’t worry, amatus – I won’t take advantage.”

*

Dorian was a filthy liar, as it turned out.

They were at a party at Lavellan’s new Kirkwall estate – ever since Varric had become viscount, he’d been beseeching Lavellan to pay him a visit to dispel some of the monotony, and once Nira had gone off to help Cassandra search for Solas for a week or so in the Wilds, they were presented with the perfect opportunity. 

It was certainly shaping up to be an interesting evening, with an even more interesting guest list – Varric’s old friend Hawke and her lover Fenris had returned from ‘murdering Tevinters’ (Dorian had blanched; Fenris had growled) on the Wounded Coast. Captain Isabela and her odd Dalish companion Merrill had also returned from some similarly sketchy business at sea. 

And Sera had tagged along too – after recruiting Lavellan as a Jenny and spending the last couple of months with him while Dorian was in Tevinter, she’d pretty much invited herself. Lavellan was fairly certain the only upstanding citizen there was Aveline, Captain of the Guard (and her husband Donnic). 

Lavellan sort of wished Anders was there too, but after Fenris went off on a small tirade about ‘the damned abomination,’ he changed his mind. Best not to destroy the dining table before it had even been used.

He wasn’t accustomed to formal yet informal dinner parties like this, but managed to carry on conversation well enough with the almost complete strangers in his house. (His house. He had a _house_. It was an odd concept.)

“So, a little bird told me that you and Sunshine have been running rooftops, Freckles!” Varric exclaimed after Fenris had quite finished his rant. “Killed any bratty nobles yet?”

Aveline choked on her wine. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” she grumbled.

“Oh, don’t worry!” Lavellan quickly assured her. “They didn’t live in Kirkwall, so you have no legal obligation –”

“Your usage of the past tense there is really worrying,” Aveline said.

“They’re dead as doornails,” Sera said through a mouthful of stew. Isabela snorted. “Bunch of pricks. But mostly we just mess with ‘em, yeah?” Lavellan nodded. “It’s great. Last week we switched out an entire wine cellar with grape juice.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “I truly hope the ‘bratty noble’ deserved such a terrible punishment.”

“He did,” Lavellan said. “He kept threatening his servant girls, trying to bribe them and seduce them and such while getting himself completely drunk. It definitely wasn’t our fault when a full wine cask fell on his head after he actually tried to threaten one of them.” He studied his fingernails. “Unfortunately, skulls are rather delicate.”

Fenris smiled slightly. Hawke laughed and nudged his shoulder. “Maybe that’s your new calling, huh? Fenris the Red Jenny?”

Sera eyed him speculatively. “Well, I don’t think you’re _too_ elfy, so fine by me.”

“But he is an elf?” Merrill said, tilting her head. She looked like an adorably confused owl. “Aren’t you elfy by default –”

Isabela patted her arm. “Not so literal, princess.” She nodded at Dorian. “So, you’re the magister?”

Fenris’s smile instantly dropped off his face. Lavellan moved a little bit closer to Dorian, who waved a hand flippantly. “We’re not even in the proper South and you still think we’re all magisters? I expected more! I’m an Altus, actually. One class below magister. Let us hope that doesn’t change any time soon.” His chuckles were strained.

Fenris was still glaring daggers.

Lavellan squeezed Dorian’s arm. “He was one of my most faithful companions against Corypheus, along with Varric. We’ve been traveling together on and off since then.” Lavellan gave Fenris a pointed look. “And he’s definitely not Venatori, nor an evil magister or a slaver or whatever else you hate.”

“Mages,” Hawke supplied helpfully. Lavellan eyed the staff leaning against the back of her chair with confusion. She shrugged. “Most mages,” she amended. Fenris grunted affirmatively.

“Yes, well,” Lavellan countered, “Dorian’s a very good mage.” To prove his point, he held up his left hand – it would have been nonexistent if not for the spell Dorian had cast upon it months ago, creating a faintly glowing, golden copy of what had once been.

“Doesn’t he make magic corpses?” Sera said doubtfully.

“Oh, necromancy’s not so bad,” Merrill said.

“Coming from the blood mage,” Fenris muttered.

Dorian not-so-subtly edged away from the small green-eyed elf. Varric cleared his throat loudly. “Y’know, now is a great time to tell the story of how Sparkler saved Freckles’ life in the Hinterlands.”

Lavellan gave him a grateful look. Merrill clapped her hands. “Ooh yes, please!”

“It started with three Great Bears…”

As Varric spun his tale, Lavellan leaned back in his chair, idly chewing the last of his roll and thinking about how much better Ferelden butter was when Dorian’s hand fell heavily upon his thigh. Lavellan paused and swallowed, eyes darting over to him, brow furrowing. Dorian’s thumb was rubbing small concentric circles over the thin fabric of his breeches, dangerously close to –

“What’re you doing?” Lavellan hissed as Dorian leaned towards his ear, smirking mischievously. “Now is really not the time for –”

“We never did get to fuck on your throne,” Dorian murmured under his breath, and Lavellan froze, words stuttering to a halt. “What a wasted opportunity…” He squeezed Lavellan’s thigh none too gently. “You could’ve tied me to it, on my back, completely at your mercy…”

Lavellan’s jaw worked. “Dorian…”

“You could’ve ridden me,” Dorian continued, gaze darkening, “or you could have taken me right there, teased me until I was begging for you, only for you, _Inquisitor_.”

Lavellan was flushing lightly. But the more noticeable thing – at least to the three other elves in the room – were his lowered ears. It was an instinctive response, so he hardly even knew he was doing it until Fenris abruptly stopped talking about how varterrals were far worse than bears and made a choked sound.

“But maybe we could make up for lost time and we could do it right here…this chair seems sturdy enough…perhaps you’d prefer if I tied _you_ to it?” Dorian’s voice was still low enough that no one else could hear him, but Fenris, Sera and Merrill certainly didn’t have to hear to _know_.

Merrill covered her mouth, turning red. “Oh,” she said. “Oh, _my_.”

Lavellan blinked, breaking out of his haze, and stared at the table, mortified. Fenris was glaring much sharper daggers at Dorian now, though he also looked faintly amused, and Sera was full on cackling. “Ohh, that’s too good, Inquisitor; never wanted to see that, but thanks!”

Aveline and Donnic exchanged puzzled glances. “I think I’m missing something here,” Aveline said.

Varric looked equally bewildered. Dorian had since sat back in his own chair smugly. Hawke looked thoughtful, glancing from Lavellan to Fenris then back again. Her eyes lit up in realization and Lavellan wanted to crawl into a hole because the Champion was too smart for her own good. Isabela just rolled her eyes and drank the rest of her wine. 

Sera had stopped laughing, probably put off by Lavellan’s unhappy silence. Her mouth twisted, worried. “Echo…?”

Lavellan stood up abruptly, not even looking at Dorian. “Excuse me,” he said quietly, before turning on his heel and trying his best not to storm out of the room. He kept walking, faster and faster, until cool air washed over him and he found himself in the garden. Without quite registering it, he yanked his boots off, starting to relax as soon as he felt the soft grass under his bare feet. He left them discarded on the lawn.

Lavellan eventually curled up in that soft grass under a tall oak a respectable distance from the house, huddling against its base and tucking his knees up to his chest. He felt…betrayed, more than anything, though he knew Dorian was just like that, he just thought lots of things were games when to Lavellan, they were so much more. Too much. Humiliation washed over him and he shivered, fingers curling staring at the golden ones that felt almost real by now. Almost.

His ears pricked warily when he heard someone running across the lawn, and Lavellan made a small sound and curled away from the shadow that stopped beside him. “Lavellan,” Dorian whispered, but Lavellan did not reply, tensing when Dorian knelt down and touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” the mage offered. “Truly, I…”

Lavellan shook his head sharply. “Listen, Dorian, I think it’s just great that you’re more comfortable expressing affection in public, but that was too much. I practically just spread my legs in front of the entire table.” He glowered at the grass. “But I wouldn’t expect you to understand, _shem_.”

Dorian faltered. “I…I didn’t realize…I was only –”

“Just because you’re comfortable with that sort of thing doesn’t mean I am,” Lavellan snapped. “I trusted you with that secret and you…you…”

“Echo,” Dorian said, sounding more than a little miserable. “I never meant to betray your trust –”

Lavellan whirled, and Dorian was pinned against the tree before he could so much as blink. “No? Well, it’s a little late for that,” Lavellan growled, and he was about to give the mage a stern talking-to about cultural differences when Dorian’s lips parted and his hips pushed up slightly under Lavellan’s. Lavellan’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, you’ve got to be…”

Then he had an idea. His grip tightened on Dorian’s robes and the mage gulped. “Sorry?” Dorian squeaked, but Lavellan put his hand firmly over Dorian’s mouth. The mage’s eyes widened.

“No talking,” Lavellan warned. “No noises at all, in fact. Can you do that?”

“Depends what you’re going to do, amatus,” Dorian said, muffled.

It was Lavellan’s turn to lean close to his ear then, teeth grazing the lobe as he said, “You seemed awfully keen about the idea of me taking you where anyone could see.”

Dorian groaned, hips pushing up again. “ _Yes_.”

“The windows offer a view of the entire garden,” Lavellan told him, unlacing his own breeches and hiking up Dorian’s robes until he could yank down his pants. Dorian’s breath was heavier, lashes fluttering as he tipped his head back, Lavellan’s hand already twisting and stroking across sensitive skin. “Anyone could see,” Lavellan repeated, and strangely he was not so against the thought of it anymore. 

Dorian was definitely on board with it, especially when Lavellan uncorked the bottle on Dorian’s belt and pressed two fingers in straightaway, watching Dorian’s face carefully as he curled them deeper. The mage’s mouth fell open and his fingers stilled. “Not a sound,” Lavellan reminded him, and Dorian threw a hand over his face. Lavellan chuckled. “Already having second thoughts?”

“We do not do this _nearly_ enough,” Dorian gritted out. “I know my cock is lovely, but yours is more than acceptable –”

Lavellan took his fingers out and moved his other (glowing) hand away from Dorian. He raised an eyebrow.

Dorian made grabby hands at him. “Amatus? Why did you _stop_?” He blinked anxiously.

“Not a sound,” Lavellan said again. “Or I walk away.”

Dorian opened his mouth, then closed it, biting his lip hard.

Lavellan touched his face. “Alright?”

Dorian nodded, and canted his hips up. Lavellan got the message.

*

“You’re so right,” Lavellan gritted out against Dorian’s neck, buried in him up to the hilt and rocking steadily into him. The tendons in the mage’s neck were standing out against Lavellan’s lips as Dorian tried desperately to conceal the strangled sounds in his throat. “We don’t do this nearly enough at all.”

Dorian grasped at him wordlessly, pulling his hips closer until Lavellan moaned and moved faster, Dorian’s nails digging half-moons into his back. The air was a miasma of sweat and sex mixed with springtime, and the feeling of the earth beneath them ignited something feral in Lavellan, something familiar. 

The bedroom was certainly Dorian’s domain, with its silk sheets and fancy oils, but this was more Lavellan’s field of expertise. Growing up, there had been no real beds to roll together upon, after all. Lavellan thought of all the grass stains Dorian was going to get on his fancy clothes, and smirked against his collarbones. There was something special about feeling Dorian come apart against him, completely at his mercy though he was not bound by anything except a silent vow.

Dorian’s thighs were trembling around Lavellan’s hips, squirming with increasing urgency, barely restrained moans coming out in nearly-inaudible staccato gasps. Lavellan kissed him, dirty and open-mouthed, right hand tangling into Dorian’s hair, the other one curling around the mage’s leaking cock. Dorian’s whole body jolted at the touch of (literally) magic fingers. Lavellan nuzzled at his chest, moaning and arching as Dorian tensed around him. “Are you close?” he whispered, already knowing the answer.

Dorian nodded jerkily. 

“You can make noise when you come,” Lavellan murmured, and Dorian shuddered. “C’mon. Let me hear you. Let everyone hear you, and know you’re _mine_.” He shoved his hips forward, hard, and Dorian’s spine billowed, head thudding back against the tree and toes curling as he spilled with a loud, keening cry, eyes squeezed shut and mouth open in an ecstatic ‘o.’ Lavellan held his hips tight through it, driving into him through it until Dorian’s body tightened and the sensation became too much. Lavellan followed him over the edge with a low moan, slumping against Dorian and kissing him despite his limbs feeling like jelly.

Dorian kissed back lazily, hand settling on the back of Lavellan’s neck. It lasted longer than Lavellan expected it to, and when they pulled back Dorian looked uncharacteristically somber. 

“I really am sorry,” he said quietly, but Lavellan just shook his head and snuggled up to him. “You’re right, I didn’t understand it fully and I shouldn’t have embarrassed you like that.”

“You didn’t know,” Lavellan replied gently, looking up at him from half-lidded eyes. “And I think you learned a lesson about keeping your mouth shut for once, in the end.”

Dorian’s mouth twitched. “Did I? I’m not certain; you may have to try again sometime just to be sure.”

Lavellan snorted. “Keep complimenting my cock, and we’ll see.”

Dorian considered that, then poked it. “Lovely,” he said, staring directly at it. Lavellan yelped and tried to bat his hands away, ticklish and over-sensitized, but Dorian was not so easily dissuaded. “Wonderful, gorgeous, a modern marvel of our time –”

Lavellan giggled helplessly, rolling on the grass under him, breathless with laughter. “Dorian, fenedhis, stop it!”

“Fantastic, incredible, a gift to mankind – elfkind? A gift to _everyone_.”

“You’re hopeless,” Lavellan managed to say breathlessly. “ _Hopeless._ ”

“Hopelessly in love, maybe,” Dorian replied.

Lavellan wrinkled his nose, though he was grinning. “Me too,” he said. “Me too.”

Dorian kissed him, and Lavellan’s ears twitched upwards happily. He didn’t care if anyone saw.


End file.
